Piece by Piece
by MOLTENblue
Summary: Half sequel to Caught. The best things always happen before the world falls apart, piece by piece. Yuffentine.


Disclaimer: I own nothing.

Note: A bit of a sequel to Caught

Revised: July 2008

- - -

Piece by Piece

**IT HAPPENS QUICKLY**, quietly, calmly. A door opens and a gasp ensues as intruding eyes take in the scene with building surprise. There, on the futon, under the covers, under that _man_, is the princess, her hands looped around a lean neck, breaths coming in shallow pants. She, unlike her lover, is unaware of the sudden presence in the room. She does not notice the man's sudden rigidness or how his hands have fisted around the bedspread. She only notices when he leans down her and mutters select words into her ears.

"_–sins are always punished–_"

She offers him a confused look, eyebrows drawing together, hands unclasping and sliding down sweat glazed arms. One tugs at the golden gauntlet covering the left until it slips off and she is allowed to see the skin beneath. It is deathly pale, but the skin is even smoother than the rest of him, untouched by anything but that metal for god knows how long. A flicker of fear and sadness passes through her eyes and she sighs, muttering her own choice of words.

"_–then I'm going to be strangled, beaten, and left to die–_"

Her wordplay does not amuse him. He is too aware of the person (probably people, now) behind him to be amused. For one last moment he observes the scene he is a part of, gazing mournfully at the pale skin bordering the tan, the quiet one the loud, the somewhat pure the forever tainted.

"Mrs. Kisaragi," a voice rings out, its tone official and grave. "Where is your husband?"

As the words are spoken neither think of their own fate. Rather, they ponder the other's. One shall most likely die because of law and the other shall most likely come close to it because of marital status. They both wonder which would be worse and neither can come to a solid answer for they wish neither to happen.

Before the princess can answer, however, a tan hand is clutching at her arm and pulling her to her feet. The hand's brother is pushing a blanket at her and she obediently wraps the object around her form. As she turns to walk away the same hand reaches out and grabs her hair, pulling her back until a mouth is situated by her ear. The words that fall from it are like venom, seeping into her system and ever so slowly bringing her end.

"_–pleasantries such as this night are things of the past–_"

The grip is so tight, so fierce, so brutally commanding that tears seep out of the corners of her eyes.

"Vincent," she mumbles to herself. The word earns her a sharp shove from behind, but she is kept from sprawling forward by a bruising grip on her arm.

She searches for some kind of response from the man still lying under the covers, his face obscured by strands of thick sable hair. Behind the curtain his eyes are shoved shut, lips pursed. It isn't long before his hand darts out for his gauntlet and pulls it on. Then he turns and sits up, making sure to keep the sheets pulled well over his hips.

"If you give me a few moments," he begins quietly, "I will dress. I do not refuse the crime I have committed and will not run."

The people dispel and red eyes stay glued to a thin form as she is all but dragged away by a tall man with brown hair and golden eyes. When they are gone he knows that a few guards have been placed at the door and that his guns are gone.

With a placid expression on his face, Vincent dresses. In no time he is clothed in his usual ensemble of leather and crimson, cleaned by some servant located within the bowels of the pagoda. As he carefully fastens each buckle and button, he wonders how Yuffie could let herself be treated that way.

After he is done dressing, Vincent is somewhat surprised to find his cellphone resting in his back pocket. He pulls the device out and dials a number. He retreats to the far corner of the guest house so he will not be overheard.

"_This is Cloud. Leave a message._"

"Cloud. It's Vincent. Our suspicions were correct. I might not be back for awhile–Reeve wants me to do some things."

He hangs up and dials a different number.

"_Hello, Vincent._"

"Reeve, listen: I won't be back for awhile. Cloud and the others want me to stay in Wutai a little longer."

"_I understand. I do hope everything is going okay._"

"It's going fine. Goodbye."

A third number is dialed.

"_What do you need, Vincent Valentine._"

"Shelke. I won't be back for awhile. I have personal business to attend to."

"_I understand._"

"Goodbye."

"_Goodbye._"

The cell phone snaps closed and opened once last time.

"_If you're calling this number, you know who you're calling! Remember: don't be antisocial, leave a message **Vincent Valentine**, or I'll never speak to you again._"

There is a long pause before he speaks.

"You're going to want to change that personal message," he mutters quietly. He mumbles more things audible only to himself before hanging up and walking towards the door.

The moment he exits he is seized from both sides. A knife blade is held at his throat and his wrists are deftly bound with ropes. Before the latter happens, though, the gauntlet and gloves are removed, rendering the skin vulnerable to sun and wind. He is unaware of how many eyes are watching him, only the dirt and dull bite of rope. He is, however, aware of a conversation going on in the not too far away distance.

"_–how dare you let him touch you like that–_"

Red eyes flicker.

"_–only I am allowed to do anything like that to you–_"

A frown grows more pronounced.

"_–he should and will be sent to death for what he did–_"

A body jerks involuntarily, but not at that sentence. The action is caused by the faint sound of begging sobs that follow that sentence. He has no idea what the words are, but they must be Yuffie. Vincent purses his lips and wonders what he's gotten himself into. Why had he done that,? What unearthly force had compelled him to lie with Yuffie Kisaragi, babbling brat of AVALANCHE, ninja princess of Wutai? The differences between her and 'his type' (Lucrecia?) were astounding. She was anything but what he looked for in someone.

Then there was the fact that he didn't look at all.

But now that he thought about, maybe the stark difference between the two women (Lucrecia.) was the reason he was partially attracted to the bubbly little princess.

Maybe.

He was jerked from his thoughts by a swift shove that would have sent a normal person tumbling towards the ground. He, however, kept his balance and merely stepped forward.

"_–before Godo; he will know what to do–_"

Godo. The man would have no sympathy upon him and Vincent did not expect him to. His daughter was married and by the looks of it she was married to someone pretty high up on the social ladder. There was no escaping death.

"_–no, please don't tell, please–_"

The words are strangled and punctuated by sobs. It is fading quickly, making Vincent decide that Yuffie is most likely being dragged back towards the pagoda.

It isn't long before Vincent is walking into a large room decorated in traditional Wutainian decor. On a mat at the head of the room sits an old man who wears an expression of grave anger. When they are nearer to the man, the guards push Vincent forward and the ebony haired man obediently falls to his knees, feeling like a fool.

He is a fool. He knows that he should have learned by now that nothing good would ever happen to him, that anything he does will be a sin and repentance will–must–follow. This time, his repentance will cost him his life.

"Vincent Valentine."

The room, which has been buzzing with conversation, falls silent. All eyes turn to Godo except Vincent's, who are still secured on the ground.

"Jenova war hero, AVALANCHE member, ridder of Deepground. Yes, your name is well known here. That, however, makes no difference in the consequence of your recent actions."

During the pause that stretched forth after the man's last syllable, Vincent wonders if he's only imagining the muffled cry that sounds from somewhere within the building.

"First, however, I would like to know who sought out whom. I know as well as any person that my daughter's relationship with her husband is anything but happy, so it would not surprise me if you said that she came to you looking for 'fun.'''

Vincent is appalled that Godo can speak of his daughter that way. He might as well call her a slut, brand her a whore, and get her a job as a prostitute. As Godo speaks these words, Vincent snaps his head up and glares at the older man with full force.

"I have every right to speak of my daughter that way," he says sternly in reply.

Vincent's mouth remains shut for he does not wish to offend Wutai any further than he has. To do that would make things worse for not only him, but also Yuffie. He would not allow someone else to be hurt because of his irresponsibility with action and inaction.

"I did."

The words have barely left his mouth before Godo is nodding and standing.

"Vincent Valentine," the old man says again, "the actions you have taken on behalf of your own person condemn you to death after two months spent jailed. Your time shall begin now and end on this day in eight days. May the weight of your actions rest heavily on your shoulders."

With all said and done, Vincent is tugged forcefully into a standing position and lead out of the room. As he walks, his eyes slide closed.

- - -

_Darkness. For awhile, that is all there is, but then it fades into deep grey, pale grey, white. Moments pass before scenery suddenly appears in the form of a bar. At a table in the far corner sits a girl staring out the window. A group of men are clustered around a card table in the center, a girl is perched on the counter, and a woman is behind it, cleaning cups. The young girl on the counter is talking animatedly, glancing over to a blurry spot along the wall every now and then. The woman obviously notices it and laughs, speaking back every now and then._

_And then it is gone, replaced by ruins. Throughout the ruins are slightly familiar sights. Out of a large pile sticks a massive sword. Not too far away is half of a staff and a pair of shredded gloves. A large four-pointed object sticks out of the side of a rock and a broken cat doll can be seen in the distance._

_Red invades the scene until it is solid with it and someone is screaming._

_Then, there is white once more. It shimmers and shines like a pool of water and the movement nearly drives one mad when a large stone and cave rise out of it, forcing it to become unseen._

_A blue stone sits in the cave, broken in half. Crystal pieces lie everywhere and in the pool around the half of the stone is a body. It is rapidly deteriorating and before long it has merged with the LIfestream._

_Then the nightmare comes. The cave closes in around him, the dreamer, constricting him until he cannot breath or think or speak or see. Voices whisper past sins in his ear, telling him he will never be forgiven, that he cannot be forgiven. They are too great, there are too many, it is simply too much to ask for. He is hopeless, destined to roam the Planet without meaning._

_Useless._

_His comrades live and die, leaving him behind. The only change that has come over him is the accumulation of new sins, new faults, new enemies. Even Lucrecia has moved on. He is alone._

Vincent awakes with a start, his breathing slightly labored, his vision blurred. For a moment he merely sits and holds his head with two bare hands, a thing he has not done for quite awhile now. They look inhuman to him, alien and raw. He can pick out every blood vessel that lies beneath them, every bruise and scar. It is as if they are transparent.

He has been in this place for two weeks now and his weight has deteriorated quickly due to the fact it obviously humors the guards to give him a mere meal a day. Thank the Planet he has a sink in his room–otherwise he would be dead.

No one is allowed to visit and he is glad for he wishes for no one to see him in the state he's in. He is sure that he is thin and gaunt with dark circles under his eyes and matted hair. That is how he feels and he is accurate.

He still swears that he can hear her yells throughout the night, that she is right above him writhing under that thing Godo calls her husband. Something primal in him (Chaos?) forces him to think of how at least she was writhing under him in ecstasy, not utter pain and fear.

She had never feared him.

No, Yuffie was always the one to bug him when no one else would dare, talk to him when she knew it was hopeless, and hug him when she knew he absolutely hated contact. She had always spoken when he did not, covering his silence when he did not know how to.

He finds it sad that he is realizing this only now.

But she is still no Lucrecia, she will never be and that is what makes her appealing. Something new, something different, something the complete opposite of what he mourns.

Lucrecia.

He remembers the time when she yelled at him about her, how she was dead and gone and just a thing in people's memories. She had yelled about how Lucrecia would be disgusted at the way he was acting, how he barely took care of himself, how withdrawn he was.

He disappeared to her cave for five days after that, trying to justify his actions.

Now he realizes that he's only been lying to himself. He wonders how long the others have known and answers himself that they've probably known for a long time. It isn't the first time he's having these thoughts, but it's the first time he's admitted to himself that he was wrong.

He is wrong. About what he does not really know. He just knows that he is wrong.

Oftentimes he craves human interaction. The guards don't dare speak to him or touch him for some sort of fear or another. You would think that a man like him would thrive under these conditions, but he does not. Rather, he is reminded far too much of his time in that coffin and he wonders which he prefers more: that or this jail cell.

He is lying on his back now, staring up at the black ceiling. It isn't long before he falls to sleep again, head falling to the left with a soft rustle of a mattress.

- - -

Somewhere above, Yuffie also stares up at her ceiling, eyes glossy, expression vacant. She is the only inhabitant of the large suite she and her husband share. Large bruises decorate her body and dried blood has collected on her cheek.

She knows that she is supposed to be the strong one, the stubborn one, the bubbly one, the brat, but how can one be that when one is merely punished for it? She's complained countless times to her father of her betrothed's actions, yet he merely states that if that happens she obviously deserves it.

The only thing that is keeping her going now is her cell phone. When her husband is nowhere in sight she insists upon playing her message–his message–over and over even when it draws countless tears and cracks something inside a little more each time she listens.

"_–I won't be back today. Make sure she stays in–_"

The words suddenly lighten her heart and she rises, cringing as each and every part of her body aches. She takes the sheets with her, dropping them only to put on servant's garb.

She counts weeks over in her head.

It has been...eight.

_Eight._

The single number makes her throw on the rest of her clothes and sprint out of the room, bouncing off various walls as she did so.

"_You might want to change your personal message–_"

Her hair, which is matted and dull, trails into her eyes as she runs, making her look more like a deranged street rat than princess.

"_When you get this, my fate will be decided. Even I can die when the will is strong enough for me to. With Chaos mostly dispelled from my being the will does not have to be strong at all._"

As she comes to stairs, she tumbles down them, hitting the wall with a loud bang. it draws no attention, though–everyone is too busy outside to pay notice to anything going on inside. With a groan she picks herself back up and makes her way down another flight.

"_My actions are inexcusable and I'm sure your father will think the same. I do not know why I executed them. All I know is that now I have began a list of sins for someone besides myself and for that I can never be forgiven._"

When she comes to a solid wooden door she stops, panting and holding her side. It has been a long time since she has tried any intense physical activity.

"_Yuffie. You never gave up on me. You were not afraid to get angry at me, to yell at me, to hit me. You did the latter once and I did not speak to you for a month yet you still spoke to me._"

She wonders how he kept the emotion out of his voice, how he made it seem so lackadaisical and dumb. She hates him for it.

"_You would speak to me for hours about nothing, not needing any response from me whatsoever. I...enjoyed that. For once I was not expected to have a reply to every sentence._"

She exits and runs down more stairs, bursting through the front gate of the pagoda. Eyes are turned on her now and someone is ruffling through the crowd. Gold eyes glint angrily.

"_For that I thank you and ask for your forgiveness._"

Before a hand can wrap around her thoroughly bruised arm, she is off, ninja training coming back to her ever so slightly as she dodges and darts around people. Her eyes never meet her destination, yet she still knows where she is going.

"_I am sorry._"

Wutai never enjoyed gallows or hangings. It is more a country of beheadings and burning.

"_Yuffie._"

The flames are smoldering, licking at metal boots harmlessly for now. Soon, though, they will rise. No. They are rising. Even as she jogs she can see the pain ghost over his face as white hot fire licks at his legs.

"_Tell the others that for me. That..._"

As more tinder and logs are thrown in the flames rise. A hand grabs at Yuffie's wrist and pulls back just as she meets a broken red gaze. Where is the Vincent Valentine she once knew?

"_...that I am sorry._"

But when a hand closes around her neck and cruel words sound, the gaze mends and burns brighter than the flames beneath them. For a moment, time stops and then...

"_Yuffie._"

Chaos.

"_I want to say..._"

Even Chaos burns as he rockets through the air, all but tearing the harm away from her. It throws him away like a piece of trash and then wavers, toppling over onto Yuffie. For a moment, she stares up into that unfamiliar face, barely noticing its frame of fire. She closes her eyes. It seems like an eternity (a second?) before she opens them again. The weight is still there, but darkness is present and lips linger at her ears.

"I love you."

And the world falls apart, piece by piece.

- - -

Note: Sorry if it's that incredibly crappy.

DEATHHHH! ...Or is it? Ohoohoooohoooo!

Review, please


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